


Brothers

by Effie1



Category: The Musketeers
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24557884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effie1/pseuds/Effie1
Summary: Post Savoy, modern au, Aramis is in trouble.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello everyone. This is a modern, post Savoy story.

Aramis cringed again at the loud voice of Athos de la Fere, as his senior officer ranted at their Captain. Over Aramis. Again. Eyes of colleagues turned his way. Aramis tried to school his features into a tight, controlled, expressionless look. To anyone that didn't know him well, they would think him disinterested. Aramis sat immediately outside Treville's office. He sat staring straight ahead, in the seat Athos had planted him in with stern warning about what would happen to him if he moved out of it. Athos had thumped him hard enough into the chair to show Aramis who was in charge here and it was certainly not Aramis. The hurting sharpshooter put a hand to the healing wound on his chest, he sat with his back to the office, listening to his brother rant at their captain.

"This has gone too far." Athos growled. "Why do you let him continue like this?"

"Athos, enough." Treville growled. "He has been through a lot."

"I know that," Athos seethed. "I have had a front row seat while you hang out in the lobby. I ask again, why have you not stopped this behavior? You would never have allowed this nonsense before."

"Enough! Athos, sit." Treville growled as he sank down in the chair behind his desk. "I am busy with the details of twenty men's families and funerals and the vetting process of new recruits. I need you to handle Aramis."

"Captain," Athos raised his voice. "This will not stop without your attention to it. He is muddled, at times, yes. But, today he knew exactly what he was doing. He did it deliberately!"

"Athos, enough." Treville shot him a stern look.

"He is not so innocent as you would think." Athos pushed through, demanding to be heard.

Aramis, eavesdropping, listened harder from outside the office.

"Athos, he is still injured, still recovering. Give him some grace." Treville gave Athos a pointed look.

"Yes, he is still injured, but it hardly slows him from getting into trouble. Porthos and I only need to turn our backs a moment and he is in trouble. He has it more together than he lets on." Athos dragged a hand down his face. He made a conscious effort to control his voice and remember who he was talking to. Outside, Aramis leaned closer.

"I find it hard to believe that you and Porthos together cannot control one injured, underweight Aramis." Treville countered.

"He fights us when we try to get him to eat. I think he acts out of purpose," Athos said. "He wants your attention."

"I have been to see him," Treville bristled.

"Captain," Athos started. "He must have survivor's guilt or he believes he is to blame for the massacre. We cannot get through to him. He needs you."

Aramis flinched. It was his fault his brothers were dead. He should have fought harder. He should have kept Marsac from leaving. Aramis had no one to blame but himself.

"Well, so do many others. Many others that you and Porthos cannot help. I turn him over to you, Athos. Handle him how you see fit." Treville dismissed Athos.

Aramis cringed inwardly, nervous as to what Athos would do.

Athos rose to his feet in a flourish and stormed out of the office. He could desperately use a few moments away from Aramis, but was too concerned with just leaving his hurting friend where he was. There was no telling what he could get into with zero supervision and right outside Treville's door. Treville. The man Aramis so desperately wanted the attention of.

"Come," Athos grabbed Aramis by his bicep and forcefully pulled him out of his chair. Aramis failed to contain a quiet grown. Several heads turned in their direction, disapproving looks on their faces. "Back to work!" Athos barked, even as he softened his touch, steadying Aramis as he swayed.

"Athos," Aramis started.

"Not here," Athos had become keenly aware of all the extra eyes and ears on them.

"Now, you're worried about an audience?" Aramis asked in a low voice.

"Now, you're concerned about who knows about your nonsense?" Athos countered, leading his friend out of the area and through the halls to their shared office area. "Don't think for a second that I don't know what you're doing."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Liar." Athos gave him a shake. Aramis, in a fit of temper, jerked his arm from Athos' grip. Athos, surprised Aramis was able to do so, snatched the arm back again with enough pressure that Aramis would not get free until Athos allowed it. The truth was it had taken Athos and Porthos some time to distinguish that Aramis was not as muddled as he'd like them to believe. That his actions were intentional.

Yes, he was still weak and hurting and Aramis knew it. Certainly not strong enough to protect himself from any kind of threat. He needed his brother's protection and he hated himself for it. He was weak.

"You're back," Porthos said to Athos as the two breezed into their shared office with Athos mostly dragging an intentionally difficult Aramis a half step behind him. "How did it go?"

"About as well as last time," Athos shoved Aramis into the chair the furthest from the door, farthest away from the only exit to the office.

"Easy, now." Porthos frowned at the rough treatment.

"You know he's playing it up. He's mostly recovered." Athos muttered.

"He has a head injury, you can't see inside his nogin." Porthos looked at Aramis. "Go easy, he couldn't fight his way outta a wet paper bag."

"You know, I'm in the room, right?" Aramis growled.

"Oh, we know," Porthos shot Aramis a stern look. "What say you, Aramis? How would you handle a wounded brother with a desire to hurt himself more?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Oh but Aramis did. He knew exactly what he was doing. He didn't want Athos and Porthos. He wanted his surrogate father, Treville. And Athos was right, Treville would never have let Aramis get away with this behavior. At least, he never had in the past. Granted, Aramis had never deliberately sought Treville's discipline-like attention before. But, after only one visit to Aramis' sick room, Treville had all but ignored him. Aramis was saturated in guilt, certain that Treville blamed him for his twenty dead brothers and the one missing.

With a jolt, Aramis realized he had missed most of the whispered conversation between Athos and Porthos. A conversation that had most definitely been about him. Rats. Now he had no idea of their plan of attack or how to thwart it. He needed to escape his wardens.

Porthos and Athos shared a look over Aramis' head and after a nod from Porthos, Athos headed out of the room.

"Aramis," Porthos sat down in his own office chair and nudged it forward until their knees touched. "You and me gotta talk."

"Don't want to." Was the sullen reply, Aramis rubbing at the barely healed scar on his head.

"Well, tough." Porthos forces a water bottle into Aramis's hands. "You want to be strong enough to stop me 'nd Athos from taking care of you, then start doing it yourself. Water. Now."

With a sigh Aramis untwisted the cap and took a long pull on the water bottle, surprised at how thirsty he was. Then the marksman shot his friend an obnoxious look. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Porthos nudges his shoulder with the flat of his hand. "Wrap your head around the idea of eating lunch today, too."

"Not hungry."

"Don't care."

"Jerk."

"Brat."

The two shared a fond look with each other.

"Aramis, I can't begin to tell you that I understand what you been through," Porthos started.

"Then don't, leave me alone." Aramis interrupted.

"Shut up and listen, you got no choice," Porthos gave Aramis a minute to look around and realize he was essentially boxed in. "I don't know what it's like to stand in a clearing, being the last man standing. The bodies of your brothers all around you."

And just like that the water made a reappearance.

"I should say sorry, but I'm not." Porthos shoved the waste basket under Aramis's chin as he expelled the water. "Not talking about it ain't working. Me an' Athos, we want to help. We need to help."

Porthos moved his big, warm hand up and down Aramis's back. Aramis loved the warmth of Porthos' touch but would never admit it. "You've got an appointment with the counselor, maybe talk to her some."

Aramis shook his head sharply.

"Gotta talk to someone." Porthos gripped the back of Aramis's neck.

"Please, not today." Aramis looked up, his eyes connecting with Porthos'. Begging his brother for mercy.

"We are brother, are we not?" Porthos implored.

"You do not want to be my brother. My brothers die." Aramis spit into the trash can one last time and Porthos tucked it away.

"We are brothers and I'll keep reminding you o' that until it sinks in." Pothos' smile was infectious and Aramis leaned into his soothing touch as the larger man continued to rub his back.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed..


	2. Ch 2

WARNING: USE OF A VERY BAD, RACIST WORD.

Also, i pulled this chapter after a few unkind reviews. I have decided to repost due to a few generously, kind reviews. I'm gonna ask you guys to just keep scrolling and not review if you don't like this story. I do this for free and for fun. This is not reality, people. It's fan fiction.

Chapter 2

Later that night, Aramis found himself seated at Athos's kitchen table. A plate of chicken and mashed potatoes in front of him. He sighed inwardly. He had never felt such a lack of control over his life. He wanted to tear his hair out.

It was early for dinner, only four o'clock. But after an abortive attempt by his brothers to get him to eat lunch and speak to the counselor he had been brought home. Well, Athos's home. Where they had all been living for the better part of a month. Aramis had the impression that his brothers wanted him out of the sight of their coworkers.

"Aramis," Athos said sternly, eyeing his plate.

"Yes, Athos," Aramis muttered. Fully aware that he was on thin ice, the marksman turned back to his plate, determined to be peaceful tonight. His brothers looked tired. He speared a small piece of chicken and brought it to his mouth. He knew it must be delicious from the way Porthos was devouring his meal, but it was tasteless to Aramis. He tried the potatoes. They went down a little easier. Aramis tried to discreetly watch Athos, who was eating at a more civilized pace than Porthos. He looked like normal, very controlled, but a little tired around his eyes. Aramis took a drink of water.

Man, this had to be the most awkward dinner the three had ever shared. He cleared this throat.

"I'm sorry," Aramis started. "For what I've put you through."

Athos and Porthos shared a look.

"What?" Aramis asked nervously, "I'm very sorry. You both deserve better."

Another shared look, this one more suspicious than the last.

Athos set his fork down and keeping his expression neutral said, "you have apologized many times, however, every apology is followed by even worse behavior."

Aramis started. "No."

"Yes," Porthos interrupted.

"I warn you now, Aramis, hear me." Athos's face had never looked more serious. "Treville has turned you over to me. His attention is being pulled in a dozen different directions and nothing you do will draw it from where it is. Not anytime soon, anyway."

Aramis lowered his eyes. He ever meant to cause so many problems.

"Hey," Porthos put his hand on Aramis's shoulder and gave him a small shake.

"Furthermore, Porthos and I are fully committed to getting you healthy so that you can return to duty and your rightful place on our team. I have contacted a nutritionist and at their request, an in home massage therapist." Athos hesitated a moment before adding, "I'm sorry. Savoy should have never happened."

"Athos," Porthos cautioned.

Aramis turned pale and his breathing picked up speed. He fought for control of his body.

"I'm sorry," Athos softened his expression. "Please don't get sick."

Aramis started to breathe heavier in a desperate attempt to not throw up.

Athos moved around the table until he reached Aramis. He gently gripped the back of Aramis's neck with one hand and reach for the acupuncture point on Aramis's wrist that knew could help with nausea. He pressed gently. "What can I do?"

Aramis shook his head as he willed his body to obey his command to not throw up. He felt his mouth water in preparation to get sick and knew he couldn't stop it now. He yanked himself out of his brother's grip and dashed for the bathroom.

Porthos sighed, "I got him."

"You want help?"

"Nah," Porthos took the last bite of chicken off his plate, then scraped his plate, waiting to give Aramis a minute alone. The marksman didn't want anyone seeing him throw up and usually handled it better when they went in after to comfort him. "What're we gonna do about all this throwing up?"

"The counselor says it's stress related. " Athos took his and Aramis's plates and went to scrape them in the trash. "The nutritionist and massage therapist will help with different things. He needs healthy meals and a comforting touch. If you've got him, I'd like to get online and research options for him."

They could both hear the sounds of Aramis emptying his stomach in the bathroom between the bedrooms. Porthos cringed and Athos sighed.

"You ready?" Athos asked, offering to switch with Porthos if he wanted. "He can get particularly nasty." And it was true, while Aramis could go either way, appreciative or harsh, he often lashed out when they tried to offer him comfort.

"I know," Porthos gave a sad smile. "I'll take him anyway."

As Porthos headed down the hallway, following the sounds of Aramis's misery, Athos settled down on his laptop at the kitchen table. He went to the page he had book marked about extreme cases of survivors guilt and picked up where he had left off. The page had everything from modern medicine to holistic and natural remedies. Athos was barely a minute in when he heard the raised voices of his friends. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to discern their words.

"Here, washcloth."

Aramis responded to low for Athos to hear.

"Aramis, Aramis," Porthos sounded desperate. "Don't be like that. Calm down now, yeah?"

Athos stood up, moving down the hall.

"I don't want your help." Aramis yelled.

Athos picked up his pace, but when he reached the doorway he stayed back, keeping his presence hidden. Porthos could handle this. Athos only wanted to be on hand if needed.

"It's what brothers do."

"You don't want to be my brother."

"'Mis, we talked about this. It's not your fault. What happened was an act of terrorism on twenty good shooters. The fact that you survived was mercy."

"Shut up."

"No, we're brothers and I want it that way."

There was a long pause in which Athos could imagine they were comforting each other and hugging it out. How wrong he was. Aramis's voice returned with a harsh edge. One that Athos had never heard before.

"Well, I don't want to be your brother." Aramis's voice was considerable lowered, no doubt to do the most damage. "You're nothing but a filthy, ni-"

Athos catapulted into the room. Aramis had a hand slapped across his own mouth once he realized what he'd said. The look of shock on both men's faces would have been comical in any other situation. Athos snagged Aramis by the front of his shirt and yanked him out of the room and down the hallway, back towards the kitchen table . Aramis didn't fight his grip, but struggled to keep up. Not even when Athos forced him face down on the table and yanked both arms behind his back like Aramis was someone he was arresting. Athos kicked Aramis's feet apart to unbalance him. With both of Aramis's wrist in one of his hands, the marksman's weight fully on the table with his bare toes barely touching the floor, Athos raised his free hand high above his head and started to bring it down on Aramis.

"No!" Porthos intercepted Athos's hand by grabbing his arm. "No, Athos."

"Are you mad?" Athos seethed, "did you not hear what he called you?"

"Oh, I did," Porthos answered. "It ain't the first time."

"He's said that filthy word before?!" Athos raised his hand again.

"No, he hasn't." Porthos blocked Athos again. "Others, though. It's ok."

"It is not!" Athos struggled to pull in a steady breath. When had the world turned upside down?

"He didn't mean it, anyway." Porthos voice softened. "He's sorry."

"Not yet, he isn't." Athos refused to be mollified.

"Let him do it, Porthos." Aramis spoke up for the first time since saying that horrible word.

Both men turned to the object of their discussion. Aramis's head rested on the table, his hair covered most of his face, but what the men could see was red, swollen flesh, covered in tears. A shudder raked his body.

"Aramis, what am I going to do with you?" Porthos's voice held no anger.

"Go for a walk and Athos will handle me."

Athos and Porthos shared a look.

"You want me to let him wallop you?"

"I deserve that and more."

"No, brother. The last thing you need is this." Porthos shook his head.

"What then?" Athos had lowered his right hand, but still used his left to contain Aramis's wrists. "This cannot go unpunished."

"Porthos, go for a walk." Aramis lifted his head off the table.

"I want your word you won't hit him," Porthos said to Athos.

"Fine. I won't raise my hand to him." Athos conceded. "Go. You have my word."

With one last look at the younger man still pinned to the table, Porthos grabbed his wallet, sidearm and jacket and left the flat.

For a long minute Athos contemplated how to handle his next moves.

"He's gone. What are you waiting for?"

Athos looked at Aramis's back.

"You can use my belt."

"Aramis, shut up." Athos dragged his free hand through his hair. "Your belt is busy."

"You know I earned this."

"Yet, I gave Porthos my word." Athos released Aramis's wrists with a sigh and dragged his hand down his back to latch onto his waistband. "Up you go."

Aramis swayed dizzily as Athos guided him to his feet and he got his bearings.

"Don't worry, you will be very sorry by the time I'm done with you." Athos led them back the way they'd came, right straight into the bathroom. "Sit on the counter."

Aramis, in a rare display of obedience hefted himself on the counter, silently. He watched as Athos rummaged around in the cabinet and pulled out a store gift bag. Aramis recognized it as the home made, all natural bar soap from a local, small business. He gulped, but still kept silent.

Athos chose a bar and pulled out the small knife he kept on his belt, behind his handgun. Aramis watched his every move.

"Now," Athos flicked the blade open and cut a piece about two inches wide, "you ever have your mouth washed out with soap? No? Well, this will be most unpleasant. Open."

After a moment of hesitation Aramis obeyed. He opened his mouth and took the bar of soap in his teeth, then let it settle in his closed mouth. Immediately, the taste overwhelmed him and he fought the urge to spit it out. He shot Athos a pitiful look.

"Do not remove it. Ideally, I would have liked you to have something in your stomach. However, you will be glad to know that while it may not feel it, that soap is organic and nontoxic. I expect you to swallow the suds." Athos gently took Aramis's arm and guided him out of the bathroom, bar of soap still where he'd left it. Aramis gave him a quizzical look. Athos sat him at the table to the left of his laptop. "Stay."

Aramis started to sweat. Athos had more in mind? He fought the desire to spit the soap out and watched as Athos headed to the printer and grabbed a few pieces of copy paper.

"How ya doing?" Athos smirked victoriously, returning to the table.

Aramis didn't even have the energy to glare. He was truly miserable.

"Good," Athos set the blank papers and a pen in front of Aramis. "We are writing an apology letter. The sooner you are done, the sooner I take the soap out."

Aramis was expected to think in this condition? All his mind could come up with was 'I'm sorry.' Which he knew would not be enough to satisfy either of his brothers.

"I will dictate, you will write." Athos settled at the table and reawakened his computer.

Aramis nodded his consent.

"Dear Porthos," Athos spoke and Aramis wrote. "I am tremendously sorry for the incredibly rude, racists slur that I called you today. I apologize from the bottom of my heart and beg your forgiveness."

Aramis's eyes stung as he wrote.

"You are a treasured friend who has stood beside me in my darkest time and for this I will always be grateful. I confess I do not have full control of my mouth and no excuse for my words," Athos continued. Athos went on and on for pages, Aramis's, fully chastised, silent tears streaming down his face. Athos nudged the tissue box closer with a quiet reminder to not spit out the soap.

Time seemed to stand still. Aramis wrote as Athos spoke. Just when the younger man feared they would never be done, Athos closed the letter.

"Please forgive me, your brother, Aramis."

Aramis put the final touches on his Athos dictated apology letter to Porthos just as they heard the locks click open. Aramis turned his head quickly to Athos.

"No, I'm not letting you run off just yet," Athos returned the gaze. "We will take the soap out soon enough."

Porthos entered the flat and set down a small takeout bag then looked them both over. He seemed happy with what he saw. "I'm gonna go lock up my gun and put on pajamas, then I'll be right back."

Athos collected the papers and looked over them, no doubt confirming that Aramis had obeyed and written what he was told to and was not, in fact, taking another unwise swipe at Porthos. Eventually, Porthos returned to the room and looked them both over again. He noted Aramis's flushed face and damp eyes.

"You don't t look to bad, Athos go easy on you then?"

Aramis refused to meet his eyes.

"Of course," Athos stood and handed Porthos the papers. "Much easier than my original plan."

"What's this?" Porthos took the letter and turned his eyes to Aramis, noticing he had yet to speak.

"It is a letter from Aramis. Let's go, Aramis." Athos took his arm and pulled him to his feet, leading him to the bathroom. "You may spit."

Aramis submissively spit what was left of the soap into Athos's hand. Porthos watched from the door.

"You may rinse your mouth," Athos leaned in. "If I ever hear that vile word come out of your mouth again..." Athos let the threat hang in the air as Aramis violently shook his head.

"Go ahead and let him rinse his mouth out, Athos." Porthos said softly. Athos did and Aramis turned to the sink quickly. He half listened to the conversation of the older men behind him as he vigorously rinsed and spit. "I brought him the soup he likes from the deli."

"Only you would be so forgiving," Athos sighed. "He does need to eat."

Aramis, determined again to be peaceful, wiped a towel over his mouth and turned to them, waiting. The silence dragged on. Finally, he spoke.

"Porthos, I'm so truly sorry. What I said, I don't think that way. I love you. I'm just a jerk. Please." Aramis scrabbled for words as tears trailed down his face. "Please. I'm so sorry."

"I forgive you, 'Mis." Porthos wiped his tears with the pad of his thumb. "I knew it wasn't the real you talking. But from here on out I want your word that you'll stop fighting us and try to get better."

"I promise," Aramis vowed.

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	3. Ch 3

A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews, this next chapter is for you.

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Aramis swallowed the last bit of soup in his bowl and smiled to himself with satisfaction. It had been three days since the terrible altercation and he had a renewed sense of determination. He was going to beat this. If he made it to bed, this would be his first full day of not throwing up. Athos had arranged for a nutritionist and massage therapist that Aramis saw every day, the counselor every other day. While hesitant at first, the women had won him over with their genuine kindness.

"Oi, you want some more?" Porthos asked, indicating his bowl. The big man was clearly happy.

Aramis looked up. He did not want more, he wanted to savor his victory. Didn't want to put his day at risk. Oh, but the look on Porthos's face.

"Not just yet," Aramis collected his dishes and walked to the sink.

"Aw, come on," Porthos pushed. "You barely eat enough to keep a bird alive."

"Porthos, please," Aramis said, his frustration returning.

"A little more, for me?" Porthos asked.

"No, I ate what you gave me to eat," Aramis's voice rose.

"But, Aramis," Porthos started.

They both turned to the front door when they heard a key in the lock. Aramis startled.

"It's just Athos," Porthos comforted, moving to Aramis as Athos entered the flat.

"I know, I'm not scared." Aramis still had his voice slightly elevated.

"What's going on?" Athos set his laptop bag down and removed his shoes and coat.

"Porthos pushes me," Aramis threw Porthos right under the bus.

"Oi, nice," Porthos huffed, returning to the kitchen table and his own food with a small nudge from Aramis. "I'm gonna enjoy giving you that shot of vitamins tonight."

Athos raised a brow, his voice firm. Aramis had been doing well, had suffered being bossed around with mostly good grace. Athos wondered if that was coming to an end. "I won't allow you to mistreat Porthos."

"I ate what he gave me, but he wasn't happy with that," Aramis huffed and left the room. He hadn't quite been running, but he certainly wasn't walking.

Athos turned to Porthos. "We were told not to force him."

"I know, I know," Porthos tucked into the remainder of his dinner. "I shouldn't of pushed. But he was doing so good."

"Porthos," Athos start.

"I know, yer right. I just was thinking he needed to eat more."

"Why? Did he throw up much today?"

Porthos cocked his head. Shared a look with Athos.

"He's kept everything down?" Athos was astonished.

"I think so," Porthos started to get up and head in the direction of Aramis's bedroom.

Athos raised a hand to stop him, "let me."

Athos worked his way down the hall and stopped outside Aramis's door.

He knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again.

"Aramis, I swear if you went out the window again." Athos said through the door.

"I never went out the window!" Aramis yelled from his side.

Athos took that as permission to enter. Though he'd have gone in without it.

"Do I need to wear my Kevlar to enter?" Athos asked, a small grin on his face.

"I'm no fit company, go eat," Aramis had his back to the door, stretched out on his uninjured side, facing the window. Athos moved over to the bed and sat down, resting his hand on Aramis's calf. The specialists he had hired were adamant that Aramis needed and enjoyed physical touch. That it aided in his healing. While it was not Athos's nature to be touchy, he would do it for his brother. Aramis had balked at first, thinking himself unworthy of any good thing. But, the truth was it just felt too good to resist. His brothers made him feel safe.

"Did you manage the day without vomiting?" Athos got straight to it.

"So far," Aramis conceded. "Though not if Porthos has his way."

"Porthos means well and you two have spent a lot of time together." Athos flopped back on the bed and dragged himself up to the pillows. Then reached down, under Aramis's arms and hauled the younger man up to rest his back against Athos's chest. Aramis gave a token attempt to get away, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Let go, you bully." Aramis huffed.

"Make me, then," Athos smiled. He circled Aramis with his arms tight.

"Remind me what you promised me when I can go a full day without throwing up," Aramis rested his head on Athos's shoulder.

"Oh, I think that was to not beat you to death," Athos muttered.

"Wrong," Aramis gave a small tug to get free, then gave up again and leaned into the touch. "You promised the shooting range."

"Surely you jest," Athos murmured. "You're not strong enough for that. Maybe in a week or so."

"And I want my motorcycle back, too."

"Absolutely not!"

"You promised. Pay up. Anyway, what good is a sniper if I can't hold my firearm?"

"I may have promised about the gun range, but we did not negotiate for the motorcycle, Aramis," Athos started. "Furthermore, you're still weak."

"What if a sniper is needed? The whole department's snipers are in pine boxes, except me." Aramis argues. "You can't baby me forever. I have a job to do."

Athos said nothing.

"Athos, I still have a job, right?" Aramis tugged free, turning to Athos.

"Get back, you idiot." Athos made a grab for him. "Yes, you still have your job. Treville would be mad to let you go. I just don't want to rush your recovery."

Athos paused. "Are you ok to talk about Savoy?"

"I haven't thrown up so far," Aramis responded.

"Let's talk about this tomorrow then, savor the victory."

"At the range?" Aramis asked.

Athos was saved from an answer when Porthos's quiet knock on the door sounded.

"Come in," Athos called. Aramis shot him a dirty look. "What? You two are usually joined at the hip. You were going to let him in anyway."

Aramis rolled his eyes.

"Sorry 'bout that Aramis," Porthos did look sorry.

"Sorry enough to tell me where you've hid my motorcycle?" Aramis challenged.

"Nope, not that sorry." Porthos smiled, "but, how about we hit the gun range tomorrow?"

Athos thumped his head on the headboard.

"Deal," Aramis quickly agreed.

Athos thumped his head again.

"What's wrong with him?" Porthos asked, indicating their leader.

"Nothing some of your soup and a day at the range tomorrow won't fix." Aramis grinned.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ,

Authors Note: Thank you to everyone that read and reviewed. I treasure your kind words. I'm not sure how much farther this story will go and I'm open to suggestions. Please enjoy.

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Aramis jerked to a sitting position in his bed, hoping he hadn't screamed out loud. He was covered in sweat, the memories of his nightmare still all to fresh. He tried to use his t-shirt to sop up the sweat, but it too, was soaked. The sniper kicked the covers off and lowered his head to his hands as he sat on the side of the bed. He fought for his self control. Images of his fallen fellow snipers flashed through his head. All dead. Except Marsac. Where was he?

His emotions were everywhere. After several big, deep breaths, he gathered some clean clothes and headed out of his room. He had been intent on heading straight across the hall into the shower, but had a sudden, desperate need to check on his brothers. He headed for Porthos's bedroom first. He heard the gentle giant before he saw him. The snores brought a soft smile to Aramis's face. She gently eased back out of the room and headed for Athos's master suite. Here he paused. Athos was a very private man and Aramis had never actually been in this room before.

"You better be covered," Aramis muttered, pushing the door open. The bed was empty, but it was clear it had been slept in. "Athos?"

No answer.

Aramis threw privacy and caution to the wind. "Athos!" His panic grew and his stomach clenched in dread. "Athos!" Aramis stormed through the bedroom, into the humongous walk in closet, then into the even larger bathroom suite. "Athos!?"

Athos was gone. His brother must be dead, too. Just like the other fallen snipers. Oh, why couldn't he keep anyone alive? The air was getting thinner. "Porthos!" He cried.

"Aramis!" A voice barked. Aramis felt his head spin. "Aramis, Aramis. Look at me. Now!"

Aramis felt strong hands wrap around his biceps, then give him a hard shake.

"Aramis, you take a breathe right now or I'm shoving your head under a faucet." Athos's face swam into view.

Oh, great. Aramis thought. I had a meltdown for nothing. Humiliation coursed through him. He felt Athos drag him toward his bathroom and when his head came perilously close to being shoved under the bathtub faucet, he found his voice.

"I'm ok, I'm ok." Aramis gasped, trying to jerk his body out of Athos's grip and failing. He felt a moment of joy at the physical touch and was glad Athos wasn't turning him loose.

"You're hyperventilating and you're soaked." Athos countered, dryly.

"I'm ok. I just," Aramis gulped, he felt weak.

"Just what, my friend?" Athos's firm gripped turned to a gently prodding as Athos kicked the toilet seat down and gently encouraged Aramis to sit. Aramis grieved the loss of touch. Athos got a small cup and filled it with water, prodding Aramis to drink, Athos hand returned to the back of Aramis's neck, "Take your time."

Aramis sighed. When nothing more came from Aramis, Athos turned, keeping one hand on Aramis, he turned his shower to hot. "Why are you so wet? I know you haven't been outside."

Aramis obediently sipped the water, but remained focus on his bare toes, his hair covering his face.

"Ok, ok. Just breathe." Athos tested the water temperature again, added some cold and nodded. He moved to grab Aramis's soaking wet t-shirt by the hem and quickly had the shirt off, dropping it in his own hamper, then moved to the younger man's waistband. "Come on, then. Shower."

Aramis's head snapped up, "I can do it!l"

Athos raised on eyebrow.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to snap," Aramis looked back down. "I'm sorry. I just...and then you weren't in your bed...and I couldn't find you." Aramis finished lamely. "It's the middle of the night. Where were you?"

"I'm alright." Athos soothed, "just getting an early start. I was working at the kitchen table when I heard you screaming."

"I can go take a shower in the other bathroom," Aramis looked around for the change of clothes he'd dropped, his eyes not meeting Athos's.

"No, it's ok," Athos said. "Porthos is still asleep and the other bathroom is closer to his room. The sound of the water might wake him."

Aramis looked around, incredible uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Athos asked.

"I overreacted." Aramis muttered. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to be a bother."

"Don't be ridiculous," Athos grabbed the back of Aramis's neck. "You know better than to act like this with me. We've been through a lot together and we will get through this."

Aramis looked around anxiously.

"I mean it. Think nothing of this. Porthos still sleeps and you get the first run of hot water." Athos smiled.

"I was going to take a shower. I dropped my clean clothes."

"Worry, not." Athos turned to head out of the bathroom. "You get in the shower and I'll set your clothes where you can find them."

Aramis hadn't moved by the time Athos reached the door.

Athos nodded at the shower, then Aramis's shorts. "You sure you don't need help?"

Aramis laughed, "get out, you jerk."

Athos obliged, returning after he was sure Aramis was behind the shower curtain and setting the clothes where the younger man would easily find them.

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Two hours later found Porthos stumbled into the kitchen wearing only his pajama bottoms and dragging a hand across his eyes.

"Oi, I'm the last one up?" He squinted at his brothers. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"There was no need." Athos answered without looking up from his laptop. Aramis sat across from him with the newspaper. "We need not leave for another hour at least."

Aramis quietly sipped his decaf coffee and popped another grape in his mouth.

"How's that flavor combination working for you?" Porthos asked.

"Hey, I do what my lovely nutritionist tells me to." Aramis smiled up at Porthos as he moved to the coffee pot. All traces of his nightmare long gone.

"Ok, which pot is high test?" Porthos asked.

Aramis indicated the one on the right.

"You eat the oatmeal yet?" Porthos continued his mostly one sided dialogue.

"Yes, earlier." Aramis answered. Porthos filled his mug and joined his brothers at the table.

You're looking better," Porthos said, sitting across from Aramis. His heart felt excited at the idea of Aramis at the range today.

"Thanks," Aramis said, meeting Porthos's eyes. He sounded tired, "I'm looking forward to the range today, my friend. I gave you a lot of trouble and for that you both have my apologies."

"You're worth it," Porthos smiled. "You take your pills?"

"All but the pain pill." Athos spoke up.

Porthos raised a brow but said nothing, knowing Aramis wanted to be rid of it. The three sat in companionable silence, occasionally getting up to refill coffee.

"Yes," Athos finally closed the lid on his laptop and stood to his feet stretching. "Let's get a move on. We have the eight o'clock slot at the range."

"The range doesn't open until nine." Aramis argued.

"I persuaded Serge to open early for you." Athos said, dryly. "Apparently, he has a soft spot for mouthy, little reprobates." Athos gripped Aramis's shoulder as he passed.

Aramis drained his coffee and stood, "I'll go brush and then we can go."

"Oi, wait a minute. I just woke up." Porthos held his coffee cup as evidence.

"Neither one of you are strictly necessary if you'd tell me where my motorcycle and sniper rifle are. I do know my way to the range."

"Nice try." Athos yelled from down the hall. "No."

Aramis bit his tongue on the sharp retort he wanted to angrily spew out. He knew his brothers were trying to protect him, but hated the restrictions.

"You'll be riding that death trap soon enough. Keep eating and getting stronger and before you know it you'll be fully restored." Porthos put his mug down with a thump. "I'm glad you're doing better."

Aramis gave him a thin smile, but held his tongue.

"As for today, you get to go shred some targets. Go finish getting ready to go, brother."

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A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	5. Ch 5

Authors Note: Thank you to everyone that read and reviewed. A VERY special thank you to Rosey for being a wonderful encourager. I treasure all your kind words. Please enjoy.

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Aramis’s hand was sweating around the handle of his rifle case. He cast furtive glances around the range, but he need not have worried. Their suv had been the only one in the parking lot except for Serge’s old jeep. He and Athos had done a small and silent tug of war over who would carry the rifle case but Athos had eventually relented. 

“This way,” Athos lead the way into the shooting range as if Aramis needed a guide. The sharpshooter had been in the range many more times than either of his brothers had, yet Aramis let Athos lead the three of them. Casting a glance at each of his brothers Aramis noted that he wasn’t the only one on high alert.

“Is there cause for concern,” Aramis asked, setting his gun case down on the table provided. The range had an indoor feel to it, but as a shooter shot down range it opened up to targets as far as a mile out. They were in a pole barn, essentially, that opened to the range.

“You let us worry about that,” Porthos grunted. Aramis looked to Athos.

“The people that attacked you could still be out there,” Athos offered.

Aramis didn’t have time to retort before Serge came bustling out. 

“Now, you boys know all the rules and I expect you to follow them just like you would during normal hours.” Serge gave Aramis’s arm a brief squeeze. “It’s good to see you, Eagle Eye, such a terrible waste. A whole department of snipers. Such a shame. I know the captain’s swamped with interviewing new shooters. Course with Marsac abandoning you and all...”

Aramis gasped.

“We’ll follow the rules,” Athos interrupted Serge. “Thank you for letting us in early.”

“We’ll just get started then” Porthos added, watching Aramis closely.

Serge seemed to know he’d put his foot in his mouth.

“Sorry boys, meant no harm. You let me know if you need anything.” Serge headed back to the office.

“Aramis,” Porthos started.

“It’s ok,” Aramis dragged a hand through his hair. “I know how the gossip mill works, I should have been better prepared. I’m ok now.”

Athos and Porthos shared a look as Aramis unlocked his gun case and lifted his rifle out. The marksman put on his eye and ear protection, then palmed the box of bullets that had been tucked inside the case.

“I only had the one box in here,” Aramis admitted with a blush. “Would either of you be willing to buy two more for me from Serge. I know he keeps them in stock. I’ll pay you back when I get my wallet.”

“Worry not,” Athos smiled. “I’ve got you.”

He opened a small duffle bag and removed his and Porthos’ sets of eye and ear protection first, then lifted four boxes of Aramis’s sniper bullets. Aramis turned to place what he had in his hands in the shooting lane, then turned back for the additional bullets.

“Ok, go away or stay,” Aramis loaded his firearm. “But, leave me alone.”

Athos and Porthos shared a smile as they slid their ear protection on. Neither of them would be making use of the range this morning. This time was for Aramis. They watched him do his best. This was Aramis as they hadn’t seen him in too long. Strong. Confident. Focused. Porthos called it sniper mode. They stood fifteen feet back as they watched Aramis load and take position. While it was clear the marksman had lost weight, it was also clear he was still mostly lean muscle. For Aramis, he was completely in the zone. He started off with fifty yard targets, adjusted his sight and worked his way back, sighting in at 300 yards before long, then moving even further still. As time passed they couldn’t help but admire Aramis. His natural ability at this was impressive and in no way impaired by the trauma he’d survived.

“We’d better pack up,” Athos said looking at his watch.

“I ain’t try ta pulling that rifle outta his hands while he’s still got ammo.” Porthos laughed.

Athos looked away, uncomfortably.

“What ain’t you telling me?” Porthos asked.

“I’d rather have Aramis out of here before any of our colleagues show up.” Athos answered.

“Why?” Porthos asked, “they’re his coworkers, too. He’s gonna have to be around them eventually.”

“Rochefort is stirring up trouble.” Athos admitted.

“And I’m just hearing about this now?” Porthos raised his voice. “That slimy jerk has always been jealous of Aramis!”

“Shhh!” Athos growled. “Aramis will hear you.”

“Aramis is completely focused down range.” Porthos countered. “I want an explanation. Now.”

“There really wasn’t time to tell you. You and Aramis have constantly been together and I was hoping it would blow over.” Athos tugged Porthos further away and then they were outside the building. They both pulled their ear protection off and slid their sunglasses down over their eyes.

“Tell me now,” Porthos growled.

“Take it easy, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want Aramis to overhear. It’s just Rochefort blowing off steam. He lost people, too.” Athos sighed before continuing, “there’s some blame being aimed at Aramis for the massacre.”

“What?!” Porthos exploded.

Athos hand came up to press again Porthos’s mouth and he walked Porthos off the sidewalk to press his back solidly against the wall to the building. “Quiet! What part of secret don’t you understand?”

Porthos returned Athos’s angry stare. He tried to talk against Athos’s hand.

“Keep your voice down,” Athos cautioned before he removed his hand.

“Rochefort is behind this?” Porthos asked.

Athos nodded.

“He blames the victim?” 

Athos nodded again and took a step back from Porthos.

“That worthless rat.” Porthos looked around, noticing more people starting to show up. “Let’s get Aramis out of here.”

“Agreed. For what it’s worth, Treville doesn’t doubt Aramis one bit. He may be completely hands off with his recuperation, but he still has full confidence in him.” Athos allowed Porthos to precede him back into the building where they both stopped short. Between them and Aramis stood Rochefort. The sniper was packing up his rifle with his back to Rochefort, Aramis appeared like his former, happy go lucky self. 

“I see you bare no permanent damage from the massacre.” Rochefort’s cool voice rolled over them.

“I’m thankful to be alive,” Aramis turned, calmly. Aramis’s eyes briefly met Athos’s and with a look Aramis waived Athos and Porthos off. 

“Yes, interesting. Isn’t it?” Rochefort crooned.

“Not sure that’s the word I’d use. Twenty good men died.”

“How fortunate that you weren’t one of them.”

“You got something to say?” Aramis asked.

Porthos tightened his fists, waiting for the first sign that Aramis couldn’t handle this on his own.

“Just that I find it very interesting that you somehow survived while twenty men much more deserving than yourself perished.”

“On that, you and I agree.”

“Some even say you had a part in the attack.”

“What?” This jolted Aramis.

“Surely you know how it looks,” Rochefort said snuggly. “You the sole survivor. Twenty dead musketeers. Treville hiding you with Athos. Marsac missing. He must have had second thoughts about your plan to cut out the competition. Now, you’re the top sniper. Well, the only sniper now that you murdered your friends to get that position.”

Aramis stared a moment before launching his full weight at Rochefort, going for his throat. Rochefort, completely off guard, took the fall flat on his back. He quickly bucked, spinning Aramis underneath him. Aramis swung a right cross and connected, splitting Rochefort lip. Rochefort returned the blow near Aramis’s temple.

Porthos and Athos shot into the room. Normally, they would let Aramis fight his own battles, but the doc had said absolutely no more trauma to the snipers head. Porthos, moving in long strides, yanked Rochefort off of Aramis and dragged him several feet away. Aramis bounced to his feet, swayed a moment and advanced on them.

“Aramis, no,” Athos stood between them.

“Move,” Aramis ordered.

“He isn’t worth it. We’re leaving,” Athos took Aramis’s wrist. “Grab your case and walk out with me.”

“Go along, little Aramis.” Rochefort teased, blood spilling down his chin. “Do what your babysitters tell you to. They’re covering up your murders.”

Porthos growled, shoving Rochefort more firmly. Aramis succeeded in snatching his wrist away violently. “It’s totally worth it!” He cracked his fist against Rochefort’s jaw again.

Porthos lifted Rochefort up and away from Aramis, then pinned him against the opposite wall. “Shut it!”

“Aramis!” Athos thundered, grabbing the rifle case in one hand and the back of Aramis’s neck with the other. “The car. Now!”

“I’ll find my own way home,” Porthos called after them.

Athos forced a mostly unresisting Aramis up the hill, away from the shooting range and into the parking lot. Some colleagues called greetings to the men, but received no response. Athos’s body was coiled tight as he keyed the trunk release and dropped the rifle case inside. Maintaining his grip on Aramis, he moved them both to the drivers side. He opened the door and pushed Aramis in. 

“Climb over,” Athos’s curt order was obeyed as Aramis moved over the center console to the passenger seat. “Seatbelt. Now.”

“I wasn’t done with him.” Aramis bellowed.

“You’re done now.” Athos handed Aramis a napkin, “for your bleeding head.”

Aramis didn’t move and Athos sighed. He moved to dab at the blood on Aramis’s temple. 

“I should run you by the doctor.” Athos murmured.

“What! No, no way,” Aramis argued, pushing away the napkin.

“Aramis, you aren’t supposed to take any blows to the head. Rochefort...”

“Rochefort accused me of setting up and murdering our brothers.” Aramis thundered.

“I know,” Athos handed Aramis the bloody napkin. “Hold that to your head and put your seatbelt on.”

Aramis shot Athos a dirty look. “I can take care of myself.”

“Not yet, you can’t. Put your bloody seatbelt on before I do it for you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Aramis challenged.

“No, I promise you, you would not like to see me try.” Athos put just enough steel in his voice to scare Aramis into obeying.

“Fine,” the younger man huffed, pulling his belt on. “But, I’m not going to the doctor.”

Athos sent a quick text to Porthos. Put his own seatbelt on, then put the car in gear.

“I mean it, Athos. No doctor.” Aramis raised his voice.

“I’m taking you home, where I will examine you myself. If I feel a doctors visit is necessary then you’ll get one.” Athos navigated the way home. 

Aramis deflated. “I’m sorry.”

“That was the quickest turn around of all time.” Athos commented.

“I shouldn’t have fought you over a stupid seatbelt.” Aramis offered. 

“Now you’re just trying to get on my good side to avoid a hospital visit.” Athos said, dryly.

When no response came, Athos offered, “I’d have punched him, too. He deserved that and more. I’m not sure Treville will see it that way. But, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

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A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing.


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